I want to go home.
I repeat this phrase almost every day.
I want to go home.
I want to throw open the doors.
I want to run until my legs wear down to dust.
I want to turn against this place and glare back
But walk forwards.
I want to go home.
But where is home.
I don't know, for I have none.
I yearn for the nightly embrace of dreams.
But then I wake up.
To do what?
Go through the day and just once again go to sleep, only just to wake up again?
What's the point?
I want to go home.
But I can't find it.
Spend enough days in prison,
And you become all too comfortable sitting behind bars.
This is my home.
But not very home-like at all.
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Poems, Stories, And Unorganized Messes
Historia CortaShort stories, poems, snippets, scraps, scripts, and more...whatever I feel like writing. Kind of a dumpster where I just dump what I'm thinking, but it doesn't smell as bad. I hope. Copyright 2014 (c) by DiscardedOpus13 All rights reserved. No part...
